Harry had had his nose in his notes outside the Transfigurations classroom, waiting for Ron and Hermione to appear. Draco had crept up on him on silent feet. Potter studied Malfoy’s bemused smile, and tried to feign boredom.

"What was what like?" Harry asked, putting his hand in the pocket of his robe. He could feel the points of the fake vampire teeth that Hermione had slipped into his pumpkin juice at breakfast. She had meant it as a loving joke, and it had brightened his day considerably.

"What’s it like, losing your cherry to a blood-sucking vampire?" Draco purred. A group of Slytherins had gathered in the classroom door. They were leering and smiling and mocking as usual, and Draco was playing Harry for his audience. Neville Longbottom smiled reassuringly at Harry, but what good were the two of them going to be against about ten Slytherins?

"Dunno, Draco. I’ve never been with your mother. But I hear she’s great," Harry murmured. He kept his voice soft and low. Draco’s eyes hardened, but he kept smiling. His audience was watching, after all.

"Come on, Potter. The whole school is talking about how you got stripped and fucked in the forest. I thought it was nonsense until I saw you at breakfast this morning. You look like you did a whole quidditch team by yourself."

That much was true– Harry did look very tired. He had thought the very same thing when looking in the mirror at himself this morning. But it was best not to let Draco know it.

"Not the whole team," Harry said, "just the beaters. Something you are familiar with, beatings that is."

Draco gritted his teeth. Harry fingered the fake points in his pocket and tried to remain calm.

"You do realize you’ll start to lose your magic, don’t you? Once your cherry is gone, your magic is no longer the same. No longer as powerful. You will never be as powerful as you could have been. You’ll never be as powerful as me."

"Draco, you’re getting on my nerves."

"Awww," Draco mocked.

"Do you really want to see me lose it, Malfoy?"

"It would be a moment I would cherish forever, marshmallow boy," Draco smirked.

"What have I ever done to you, Malfoy?" Harry whimpered, putting his hands over his face and doubling over in orchestrated sobs. It must have been a convincing performance, because even Neville had been fooled. Draco watched Harry in complete surprise, putting a hand on his shoulder as if considering for a moment that he should be comforting. Harry whirled on Malfoy, and Draco let out a piercing scream that cut through the corridor like a whip. Potter pinned Malfoy to the wall by his shoulders and nipped at Draco’s neck with the fake teeth. Neville was doing his best not to scream with amusement. Harry let go of the screaming, writhing Malfoy, who curled to the ground inside his cloak, both hands over his wet neck.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry turned away from the mortified Draco and found Professor McGonagall was standing behind him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was drumming her fingers on her arm. Harry gave her a hopeful smile, and her eyes widened when they scanned his teeth.

"If you please, get off the floor, Mr. Malfoy." Minerva held out a hand, but Draco climbed to his feet unassisted.

"Fucking nutter," he hissed at Harry.

"That will be ten points from Slytherin for your vulgar language. Take your seat in the class at once, and don’t open your mouth until something more refined than profanities is going to come out," McGonagall scolded him.

Malfoy lurched into the doorway, glared back at Harry, and finally managed to get into the room. McGonagall extended her open hand to Harry, and waited. Potter pulled the fake teeth out of his mouth and put them, moist and sticky, into her palm.

"What are these?" she asked.

"Muggle Halloween artifact, ma’am," Harry reported.

"I see," she frowned. "Now tell me, why did you feel it necessary to bite Mr. Malfoy with these and make him scream like a little girl?"

"He was taunting me," Harry complained, cringing because it sounded as lame as it felt.

"That will be ten points from Gryffindor for uncommonly bad judgement, Mr. Potter. I expect you to begin to develop a thicker skin when it comes to Mr. Malfoy and his comments to you. He baits you for a reaction, and you never fail to give him one. I want it to stop. End of story."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Take them back," she said impatiently. Harry quickly pocketed the teeth. "I don’t want to see those in your mouth again, Mr. Potter. Because if I do, I’ll make you wear them waking and sleeping for a month. Not the fake ones, either. I’ll give you a set of your own."

"No. Really. I understand. I was only joking with Malfoy."

"If this was meant as a joke, it was in very poor taste."

"Yes, ma’am," Harry said, trying desperately to look chastised even though he wanted to grin.

"Get into class, James, and try to contain yourself."

"Yes, ma’am," he said, eyes wide.

"I’m sorry. Harry," McGonagall corrected herself, looking as sad as Harry could ever remember. She ushered him inside, wanting desperately to clock him in the back of the head for good measure.

***

"Far as I’m concerned, you’re half responsible for it," Ron told Hermione as they were leading Harry back to the Gryffindor Common Room that evening.

"What? Me?" Hermione protested. "Neville said Harry nearly made Draco pee his pants. Isn’t that worth ten points to you?"

"Sorry I missed it, but honestly, you’re the one who gave him those things."

"Why are you complaining?" Harry said. "I got all those points back in Dark Arts," he smiled.

"Yeah, but all you have to do is smile for Volkova, and she’ll give you points. You sugared her up right well in class, didn’t you? Helping her pass out books. Passing out the exams. Sharpening her quill," Ron teased him. "The rest of us lowly scum have to work hard to earn points."

"Well that’s uncalled for. I’m lowly scum too," Harry sulked, closing his book.

"You have to stop letting Draco mess with you. You have a temper where he’s concerned, and it gets you and all the rest of us in trouble," Ron lectured.

"This from the definition of serenity. You know what Malfoy’s like."

"He’s a nobody. If he weren’t Lucius ‘I’m a Death Eater’ Malfoy’s son, he’d be invisible here. No remarkable brains or skills. No charm to speak of unless you like the icy blond type. Oh wait. Wrong tack."

"That’s enough," Harry growled. "I do not fancy Professor Volkova."

"Could have fooled me," Ron snapped back.

"Do you think what Draco said is true?" Harry asked Hermione, ignoring Ron briefly.

"What?" she said impatiently. "Harry, you were fully clothed when they brought you to the hospital ward. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you didn’t get molested by the vampire."

"No! I meant the other part. If you lose your virginity, do you also lose your magic?"

Ron and Hermione both looked at each, and quickly looked away.

"No," they answered in unison. Harry was by turns intrigued and repelled by the implications of this.

"Ick," he commented, and nothing else. He was certain neither of his friends was going to elaborate unless pressed for information, and further information was the last thing Harry wanted.

"It’s a rumor perpetuated by those with much to gain in controlling the sexual habits of other wizards. The myth has a basis in fact, of course," Hermione continued. "Witches can experience fluctuations in their magic during pregnancy, find themselves unable to use or control their magic. Adolescent wizards and witches can have wild mood swings during periods of growth and this affects their magic in unpredictable ways. Certain wizards and witches who have maintained a purity of body do often wield greater magic than those who made more carnal decisions. But one does not necessarily prevent or insure the other. I mean, they may or may not be related. It’s hard to tell. The real difficulty is finding a willing control group for more studies."

"What are you listening to Draco for? He’s jealous of the attention Volkova has been paying to you, and he’s mad no one’s interested in stealing his cherry," Ron laughed.

"Yes, and he’s not the only one," Harry said pointedly. Ron frowned at him.

"Draco’s more than jealous. He’s perfectly livid," Hermione said. "I heard him telling Crabbe and Goyle that you ought to be expelled for flirting with the instructors."

"I’m not flirting with her," Harry insisted. "I’m being nice, that’s all."

"It’s pretty obvious there’s a bond between you and Volkova, Harry. Why are you fighting so hard against it?" Ron asked. "You two connect on some level."

"She’s being nice, and I’m being nice, and that’s all there is to it," Harry said. Ron and Hermione were neither one convinced, but Hermione did a better job of hiding her feelings on the matter.

"Even if you don’t fancy her, she clearly fancies you," Hermione offered. "Which is bad news."

"You think?" Harry smirked.

"Because I mentioned her in a letter to Viktor Krum."

"Uh oh," Harry whispered.

"Wait for it, wait for it," Ron murmured.

"As luck would have it, Viktor knows someone who knows someone whose cousin went to the school where Volkova taught before coming to Hogwarts."

"Yeah?" Harry urged Hermione to go on.

"Volkova did have an affair with one of the other instructors, the freshly-trained, newly-graduated, very young Potions Master, to be precise."

"The undoubtedly virginal Potions Master," Ron supplied helpfully.

"Uh oh."

"Not only that, they had a seriously nasty public breakup, in the cafeteria, in front of the entire student body, where said Potions Master accused her of using him to, shall we say, further and meet all her own needs and not see to any of his."

"How selfish of her."

"Wait. Gets better," Ron grinned.

"Do you want to know why she’s no longer a vampire hunter?" Hermione asked.

"Don’t tease. You know I do," Harry whispered.

"Because she was responsible for another vampire hunter getting attacked and converted."

"Illumina Snape?" Harry gasped.

"No. Someone else," Hermione said. "Illumina Snape was never a vampire hunter. She was a tracker for the Ministry, remember?"

"Oh, right," Harry nodded. "What does a tracker do?"

"They track, Harry. Why do you ask these questions?" Ron teased him. It was Harry’s turn to frown.

"The point is, Volkova went renegade, hunted down the person she was responsible for getting infected or converted or whatever, and she killed them," Hermione interjected.

"Bad form," Harry decided. "Guess there’s no mystery where the Sorting Hat would put her."

"You got that right," Ron snorted. "She’s got Slytherin written all over her."

"She’s positively no good for you, Harry," Hermione told him plaintively.

"I couldn’t agree more."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped back from the Pink Lady’s portrait when Draco stepped out of the shadows.

"Poor little Slytherin, can’t find your own Common Room?" Hermione asked.

"Mudblood, I don’t need directions from you."

"Listen to me, you prancy, inbred twit. If I were going to give you directions, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to the Slytherin lair," Hermione snapped.

"Potter, can I have a private word with you?" Draco asked.

"About what?" Harry asked, putting a hand on Hermione’s arm when she went for her wand.

"It’s private, Potter, by definition, private," Draco went on.

"I can’t imagine what we’d have to talk about," Harry laughed darkly.

"Five minutes."

"It’s a trap," Ron cautioned. "He’s going to get you isolated and zap you."

Draco took out his wand and handed it to Hermione. Then he moved down the corridor and waited for Harry.

"He seems pretty serious," Harry said.

"I don’t trust him," Hermione said, glaring in Malfoy’s direction.

"If you see smoke and flames, alert McGonagall," Harry said, giving up his wand to Ron and going down to talk with Draco.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, pointing his wand and Harry’s wand towards the pair of silhouettes.

"Okay, Malfoy. The clock is ticking," Harry said.

"Potter, I--"

"Wait." Harry held up a hand. "Ground rules. For every minute of my precious time you waste, you will donate a hundred galleons to St. Mungo’s towards the care of magical maladies."

"Fine. I need–"

"Wait. More ground rules."

"Hurry up."

"You must want to talk to me very badly," Harry mocked. "Want another bite on the neck?"

"My father is gone."

"What?"

"This morning he vanished from Malfoy Manor. He walked out of the gates, and he’s gone."

"I didn’t know."

"No note. Not a word to my mother. He didn’t so much as pinch the house elves on the way out."

"You can’t believe I had anything to do with this. I was busy this morning, and so were you."

"You might have heard something."

"No."

"Overheard something?"

"No."

"Seen anything in your sleep about it?" Draco fretted. The desperate look on Malfoy’s face was a bit of a shock for Harry. How did Draco know about Harry’s dreams? Malfoy pulled a wrinkled and reread piece of parchment from his pocket. "I found this in my father’s study. It’s from Professor Snape. A mutual acquaintance has had what he fears is a precognitive dream. Where am I spending the summer? Am I in good health?"

"What makes you think they were talking about me?" Harry asked.

"I followed my nose, Potter."

"Your nose is totally off mark," Harry denied.

"I spent the summer in southern France, researching the Malfoy family tree. Do you know where I spent most of my days? In the family crypt, crawling around, reading dusty plates tacked on dirty coffins."

Harry gasped, and took a step back from him.

"That doesn’t prove a thing," Harry bluffed.

"It’s my father, Harry. I know how you feel about him, but he’s my father. What if it were your father?"

"It’s not my father, Draco, and I suspect somehow that I have your father to thank for it."

"I’m not denying you’ve got no reason to help me. But put yourself in my shoes, Harry."

"Draco, I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry."

"I had a distant cousin who was a seer. She was able to find whatever or whoever you wanted if you gave her something associated with your question. She would sleep with it under her pillow, or in her pocket, and by morning, she would know your answer."

"I don’t understand where this is going, Draco."

Malfoy put the letter away, and pulled out a beautiful silver locket on a long chain. He coaxed it into Potter’s hands.

"Put this under your pillow. If you don’t dream about him, no hard feelings. I won’t bother you again. But if you do dream about him, you will tell me what you see."

"Why will I tell you?"

"I will be extremely generous to St. Mungo’s. I’ll even donate in your name. Ask your price, and you shall have it."

Harry remained unconvinced.

"Where’d you get this?" Harry asked, lifting the locket to look inside. The tiny portrait of a very elegant, slender blonde woman was inside.

"If not the poor unfortunates at St. Mungo’s, think of how generous I could be to you," Draco added. He glanced Harry up and down, gave a half-scary, half-charming smile, and pretended to pick an imaginary spot off Harry’s shoulder.

‘Bloody hell,’ Harry’s mind raced. He felt color rise to his face. Had Draco Malfoy made a pass at him? Malfoy stepped closer, narrowing the gap between them to an uncomfortable mere inch or two.

"Do you want to see me beg, Potter? Do you want me on my knees?"

"No," Harry gulped.

"You do this for me, Harry, and my generosity will blow your mind," Draco promised.

'Most definitely a pass,' Harry’s brain commented.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ his cock replied.

Draco backed away, his face hardened against disappointment. His eyes were still pleading with Harry though. ‘When a fellow wizard asks for your help,’ Harry thought.

"If this works, Malfoy, I’m going to own you," Potter murmured, stroking the locket.

"Perhaps you’ll find that won’t be as unpleasant as you believe. Thank you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight," Draco replied. He gave Harry a low, graceful bow, before he strode over to Ron and Hermione. Draco collected his wand from Hermione, wearing his usual smirk again.

"Mudblood," he taunted as he walked away.

"Twit," she spat.

"What was that all about?" Ron wanted to know, stampeding over to Harry’s side. Hermione saw the chain dripping from Harry’s hand. He offered the locket for her to see.

"Draco’s father is missing. He asked if I would sleep with this under my pillow and see if I dream about where Lucius might be."

"Right," Ron joked. "What’s it really about?"

"It could be jinxed," Hermione warned, giving the locket back to Harry. "You’d better ask someone to have a look at it before you try."

Harry stared at her evenly.

"You knew?"

"Tonks told me," she shrugged.

"Told you what?" Ron wanted to know.

"Harry’s been having precognitive dreams since summer. This often hits clairvoyant wizards in mid-puberty," she said. "No one knows if it’s permanent or not until you’ve finished growing, and that won’t be for several years."

"Cool," Ron said. "Can you tell me what questions will be on the next Potions quiz?"

"No," Harry said flatly.

"I don’t care how pathetic and desperate he looks, you can’t trust Draco Malfoy," Hermione said.

"Yeah, it could be jinxed," Ron agreed. "A delay portkey. Your head winds up in Honolulu, and your buttocks go to Bogota."

"Dolt, you have to be in actual physical contact with a portkey for it to work. Under the pillow won’t do. Get someone to check it out for you, Harry," Hermione ordered.

"I know just the person for the job," Harry nodded.

"I would use terms more harsh than seething and uncooperative."

"If you knew any."

"I need your help, Severus. How often do I grovel at your feet?"

"Not often enough," Snape replied.

"You can make this potion in your sleep, Severus. How long have you waited for me to admit what a skilled professional you are?"

It sounded like Remus Lupin, but as if his voice was coming in over a distant phone line.

"You can’t expect I’m really going to help you with this, especially if you don't tell me why you're doing it."

"If you’re not up to the challenge, I can find another Potions Master who is."

"Oh, can you? One who doesn’t mind being an accomplice in a capital crime against a wizard’s person? You go right ahead, Wolf Boy."

Harry knocked loudly. Severus stopped talking and shushed the other person.

"Contact me in two hours,"Snape offered a moment later.

"You’ll recommend someone?"

"I might have an idea."

"You’re a prince, Severus."

"Yes, Prince of Darkness, and don’t you forget it."

Harry heard footsteps to the door. Snape whipped the portal open, and stared down at Potter more intently with one eye than the other as he cocked his head to the left.

"Can I help you, Mr. Potter?"

"Did I hear Remus Lupin’s voice?"

"Shouldn’t you be asleep?"

"Are you busy?"

"Do you know how late it is?"

"Are we going to stand here all night and ask each other silly questions?"

"How would you like to spend the rest of this year in a jar on my shelf?"

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry worried, craning up for a look over Snape’s shoulder into the entirely dark office. Snape batted him back with a slight swipe of one hand, which Harry easily dodged.

"Could you be more of a pest?"

"We both know the answer to that question, sir," Harry grinned fetchingly.

"What did I ever do to deserve you in my life, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, his shoulders slumping downward heavily.

"Whatever it was, I’m sure it was sticky, unpleasant, and none too healthy for the receiving party. Can I come in?"

"The correct question, you ignorant brat, is ‘May I come in?’."

"What’s the correct answer?" Harry grinned. Snape put his forehead against the door frame and sighed his impatience. Harry deflated, lowering his head. "May I come in? Don’t make me beg."

Snape grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into the office, then proceeded to slam closed and lock the door. He covered the door with a flick of dark magic that effectively made it another wall. The office was entirely black except for the fireplace, which rose in response to Snape’s approach. Harry backed away as Severus prowled around him in a circle.

"What do you want, Mr. Potter?" Severus whispered dangerously. What was that wonderful smell in here, Harry wondered. An ancient, sweet perfume lingered in the air, like something that caravans once traveled great distances to bring back from the Far East. Harry inhaled deeply, and hummed softly with the pleasure that tingled through his head and limbs.

"What is that?" he asked.

"What is what?" Snape whispered, stepping even closer to Harry. "Why are you here, Mr. Potter?"

Harry pulled the locket out of his cloak and handed it to Snape.

"Is this jinxed?" he wanted to know. Severus took Harry by the shoulders and shoved him down on the couch that was in front of the fireplace. The smell of the room was making Harry a bit dizzy.

"Lie there. Do not move. Do not say a single word."

Harry pulled up his legs and lay motionless on the plush divan. Snape slid down to the rug on the floor in front of the divan, and examined the locket. Glowing redness on the table to the side drew Harry’s attention. A tiny metal container with small, circular holes in the lid was putting forth smoke that curled and coiled as it rose towards the ceiling. Harry inhaled deeply again, and the smoke drifted his direction. Next to the container was the blue-ribbon adorned letter that Hermione had said was a whisper. Had Snape been reading that before Lupin and Harry interrupted?

"What occasion brings Mr. Malfoy’s seventeenth-century family heirloom into your possession, I wonder. No. Do not answer. I don’t want a word out of you," Snape muttered. Harry turned onto his side and buried his face in the throw pillow beneath his head. It smelled musky and sweet, like the incense in the air and mingled personal scents.

"He wants me to find his father," Harry mumbled. Snape looked back over one shoulder at him. Harry closed his eyes, engulfed by sudden sleepiness.

There was a rustling sound of heavy material brushing against the plush divan. Snape sat up on his knees and slid his arms around Harry’s waist. He covered Harry’s mouth with his own, taking pains in coaxing the young man’s lips apart. When Snape’s tongue slid inside, caressing tenderly against Harry’s, Potter groaned softly in response. Who knew Snape was such an excellent kisser?

One hand, not his own, moved down between Harry’s thighs. He arched eagerly as Snape’s hand cupped him through his trousers. Severus was delighting in every delicate inch of Harry, exploring every detail, and was apparently happy with what he found. Snape’s soft, deep laugh wormed its way into Harry’s ear, followed by his tongue. This was nothing like the terrible, vicious, furious passion the vampire had exacted on Harry. This was slow and gentle. It was wonderful.

"Up, Mr. Potter. You may not sleep on this divan," Snape whispered.

Harry sat up straight as ordered. Snape began removing Harry’s clothes, kissing and licking his way around the flesh that was bared. First Potter’s robe was gone, then his shirt. Harry shuddered, and leaned his head forward as Severus began to nibble on his neck and shoulder. Snape moved between Harry’s knees, stroking the length of his thighs. Harry opened his legs and curled himself instinctively around the heavy form that pressed against him. Snape was overwhelming and yet careful as well. Harry didn’t know what to think of this. Teeth dug into his neck. He felt his trousers being undone. Aroused and impatient, Harry tried to bite back, tried to find Snape’s clothes with his hands, only to encounter a hand pressed flat over his mouth.

When the hand disappeared, Snape began sucking another kiss from Harry’s mouth. He was tugging the teen’s trousers down his hips, down his thighs. Harry arched up, and the pants vanished down his legs and were gone. Where had his shoes gone, he wondered. Snape crushed Harry back against the divan, and began to devour his neck, biting and scraping tender flesh. Harry called out when he felt strong fingers curl around his cock and begin to stroke. It was over so quickly. Harry was shuddering, sucking and nibbling on the tongue that had slid into his mouth. He heard himself whimpering involuntarily, not out of fear, but out of terrible longing. He wanted more. He wanted to be held and caressed, to know what it felt like to be cherished.

"Harry? Harry? Are you all right?" Snape murmured. His voice was close. Harry continued to suck, discovering it was a thumb in his mouth and not a tongue. How odd. A tender kiss touched his forehead, and the thumb went missing, leaving a sticky trail that was quickly wiped away.

"I’m sorry to have to hush you like that. Are you hurt?"

A tender kiss touched his cheek. Harry opened his lips in response, and the other mouth quickly withdrew out of reach. His scar was tingling, but not painfully. His head and body seemed to be moving in different directions, through different worlds.

"Up now. There you go."

When he came to his senses, Harry was sitting up against Severus, gasping for breath. They were both fully clothed, much to Harry’s surprise. He had his legs clutched at Snape’s sides where his instructor was kneeling in front of him. Harry’s trousers and undershorts felt soaked and sticky in the apex around his genitals. It was a coin toss as to which of the men was more mortified. Harry gulped back his horror. Snape’s face, usually such a mask of disdain, was filled with open alarm. He offered a shoulder, and Harry leaned forward. The boy groaned miserably, and started to cry. He couldn’t help it. Snape stroked his back, utterly awkward.

"Entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have put you on this thing. What was I thinking, planting a budding clairvoyant here? You don’t know how many times I’ve had sex on these cushions, often with other people. I do apologize most humbly. Sweet Merlin, whatever did you see me doing? With whom? Dumbledore would have my balls for this if he knew. Let’s get you away from here, hm?"

Severus picked Harry up and carried him over to the desk, where they sat in his large chair. Severus held Harry across his lap. Dizzy and tired and confused, Harry nestled close and held on. The dream had subsided, but was not entirely gone. His terrible longing remained– a longing he hadn’t known since he was a small child hiding in the dark corner of his cupboard, whimpering for his mother, and not understanding where she’d gone. Who were these people he was with, and why did they hate him so much? He'd never done anything to them. Maybe it made some terrible sense that he struggled so desperately against Snape almost all the time, when all he had ever wanted was approval from him. Snape treated Harry just like the Dursleys did, with anger and hatred and resentment. Harry filled with fear, knowing suddenly that Snape was inside his mind. He pushed the memories and thoughts away, pushed them as far away as possible.

"Shhh," Severus whispered, rubbing Harry’s back again. "I don't hate you. I've never hated you."

He dried Harry’s face with as tender a touch as he could, withdrawing from Harry’s mind. With a swish of Snape’s wand, the clothes Harry was wearing changed from his school uniform to his Quidditch clothes, complete with protective pads and outer cloak. Even his shoes were replaced with regulation runners.

"The others are in your hamper upstairs. Not to worry," Severus said. Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his sleeves over his eyes. "Are you all right?" Severus asked, rummaging through the desk, opening and closing drawers in search of something. "Here. Open your mouth."

Harry opened up like a little bird, and sweet-tasting drops touched his tongue, administered from the eye-dropper that Snape was wielding. Snape quickly hid the vial once more. Harry recognized the cherry-flavored cheering potion from Madam Pomfrey’s own supplies, though this batch tasted more potent. Harry swallowed hungrily, and slowly put his glasses back on. He stared at the floor, hunched down in humility as he waited for the cheering potion to take effect.

"Tell me about the locket," Snape said, putting the trinket back in Harry’s hands.

"Draco wants....wants me to sleep with this under my pillow. He found your letter to Lucius about my dreams this summer. He’s got it in his head I can help him find his father. I wanted to make sure my head wasn’t going to blow up."

"The locket is not jinxed. In fact, it’s totally Muggle as far as I can tell."

"It is?"

"As far as I can tell. I need more time to examine it thoroughly."

"Draco’s not having me on then?"

"No," Severus promised. A knock at the door/wall made them both jump in alarm.

***

"I’m not disturbing you, am I, Professor Snape?" Volkova asked, downright charming when Severus opened the door to the office. "I thought I heard voices."

"You should see a professional." Severus’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Boyish giggles from the office drew Volkova inside. Harry was sitting in the chair behind Snape’s desk, thumbing through a textbook, trying desperately to look casual.

"May I come in?"

"We’re having serious discussion about potions."

"Bit late for lessons, isn’t it?"

"It’s a very dark potion. Moonlight is a requirement," Harry interjected enthusiastically. Snape worried that he had given the boy too many drops of the quick-fix.

"Highly unusual," Volkova called back. "I know of only five potions off-hand that require moonlight to stimulate the results."

"There are seven, actually," Snape commented.

"Oh! Here we go. Moonlight enhancement of male virility," Harry said happily. Severus nailed him with a deadly, one-eyed stare that made the hair on Potter’s neck stand up.

"Why would you need a virility potion at this hour, and with such innocent company?" Volkova asked.

"It’s not for him, it’s for me," Harry chirped.

"What do you want?" Snape asked Volkova.

"May I come in?"

"She knows the right question," Harry said.

"If I say no?" Snape inquired, ignoring Potter as much as he could.

"I would be most eager to discuss with the Headmaster your answers to two pertinent questions," Volkova whispered, lowering her voice so only Snape could hear.

"What might those two questions be?" he replied in a similar low voice.

"Why Harry is bouncing around your office at twelve midnight, wearing his Quidditch uniform, and if the semen on your trouser leg belongs to you?"

Snape looked down as casually as possible, watching the small wet spot on his upper thigh. It was no bigger than a knut. How did she know what it was, he wondered, before remembering exactly who he was dealing with. He really had to wash these slacks and fast. But for now, he had to decide what to do with Volkova. Quelling his horror, he made his face a mask of calmness, and raised his dark eyes to her.

"You’ve come at a bad time."

"I’m clearly not the only one."

"Who knew you had such wit?" he mocked.

"I knew you’d go to great lengths to keep him away from me, but did you really have to take matters into your own hands? Greedy, selfish bastard."

"Your vulgar insinuations are doing nothing to endear you to me, Anna."

"My vulgar insinuations? You’re the one playing naked quidditch with my....my student!" she hissed. Severus stared at Anna and couldn't help but ask himself what she had meant to say. Would she scream very loudly if he cast a Legilimens spell on her? Would Harry intervene?

"What are you two whispering about?" Harry wanted to know.

"It’s my duty to alert the Headmaster that you’re doing morally unwholesome things with one of your students," Volkova warned, raising her voice enough Harry could hear.

"Really? Which one?" Harry asked.

"Potter, do shut up," Snape growled. He opened the office door wide enough to admit Volkova. She slinked inside and kept a safe distance from Snape, which Harry felt showed remarkable insight on her part. Snape leaned a hip against the desk and waited for Volkova to speak. Harry kept quiet, watching them.

"I’m here about Draco. Did you know that Lucius Malfoy has gone missing from his home?" she asked, choosing to remain standing.

"Yes. I was most recently made aware."

"May I say you seem remarkably unconcerned?"

"Lucius is not a man that will allow himself to be held for long, not unless there’s something to be gained from it."

"You’re implying his disappearance might be a self-manufactured event."

"I wouldn’t know, of course. But Malfoy is a powerful sorcerer, one who would not allow himself to be taken without his consent without a fight."

"His son is most distressed."

"I’d be concerned if he weren’t."

"I assured Draco that the authorities were doing all they could, and that he mustn’t be worried, that it will impact on his school work, but I’m afraid that all my attempts to console the child have borne little fruit. As Head of his House, I thought I should come to you."

"Thank you, Professor Volkova. Your concern for Mr. Malfoy is touching." Severus waited a beat and then added, "He is in the Slytherin dorms, I assume."

"No. He came to my office, most upset, and in need of comfort."

"He’s in your office?" Snape’s voice rose.

"I told him to take all the time he needed to pull himself together."

"You left Draco Malfoy alone in your office with Dark Arts manuals and black magic items?" Snape straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you not read his personal file?"

"I have tried to read as many of my students’ files as possible."

"Have you gotten to Malfoy’s yet?"

"No."

"Let me sum up for you. Not to leave this room," he said, darting his eyes in warning at Harry. "Mr. Malfoy has made a reputation for himself for purloining whatever catches his eye within arms’ reach. In fact, he’s rather a skilled artiste. Needless to say, if you have items missing from your office when you return, you should not be the least bit surprised. He will have helped himself to whatever isn’t nailed down."

"Have you tried to discourage him from this habit?"

"Of course I have. But with precious little success. He claims it’s an uncontrollable compulsion."

"It’s not like his parents cannot afford whatever he might desire."

"Without getting tangled up in messy psychological nonsense, it’s my firm belief that many children who misbehave at school are in search of the attention, positive or negative, that they don’t receive at home."

Snape secreted a meaningful glance at Harry, and Potter ducked down. ‘He means me too,’ Harry understood, terribly embarrassed at how transparent Snape could make him feel.

"Have you discussed this with his parents?"

"On numerous occasions," Snape rolled his eyes.

"What was their response?"

"I don’t feel it’s appropriate to get further into this matter in front of another student."

"Quite right. Would you like for me to talk to Draco?" she offered.

"At your discretion, you may do as you please. He will of course bitterly deny any accusations you level at him, even if he is holding the missing items in his hand in full view. He has a terrific temper. Brace yourself for backlash."

"Backlash?" Volkova puzzled with a furrowed brow. "I hope I don’t have to get physically violent with the boy."

"Perhaps you should go back to your office and see what is missing," Severus suggested.

"Perhaps I will first escort Mr. Potter back to his dorm."

"Mr. Potter isn’t done here," Harry chimed in.

"Mr. Potter needs his sleep," Severus murmured pointedly. He couldn’t have given Harry more than six drops. The potion should wear off well before they reached his dorms. It should have worn off already.

"As you wish," Harry agreed. "Is the thing what I showed you safe?"

"As far as I can tell," Severus answered.

"You’ll put me back together if he splinches me?"

"If I can find all your parts."

"How terribly reassuring," Harry laughed sleepily, making his way to the door. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Mr. Potter," Severus said. He watched Volkova escort Harry out of sight around the corner, and closed the office door.

"It can be intimidating at first," Harry replied. Now out of Snape’s office, he felt his head beginning to clear. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Snape in class again, or in the halls, or anywhere else in the school, but at least for tonight, he was all right. Harry paused in front of the staircase and waited for Volkova. She paused at his side and watched him.

"Are you well? You’re a bit pale, child."

"I’m all right," he shrugged, embarrassed. She put out a hand, and Harry slid his arm inside hers.

"You’ve had a rough couple of weeks," Volkova murmured. "I understand that. Too many changes in your life, too many changes in your body."

‘Uh oh,’ Harry thought, hoping he didn’t voice that aloud.

"I hope you won’t think me forward if I tell you, I sense great things in you, a very powerful magical essence."

"Um...thanks," he smiled.

"I’m sure others have sensed that in you as well."

"None have said so," Harry replied. She was working up to an uncomfortable topic. She hesitated a couple times before blurting the words.

"Perhaps I have been misinformed. I was under the impression that you and Professor Snape were never on friendly terms," she said, urging him up the staircase. He plodded cautiously along, remaining quiet. He was actually having trouble walking, but didn’t want her to notice.

"I needed advice," Potter replied simply.

"Wouldn’t it have been more prudent to go to Professor McGonagall?"

"I needed someone with Dark Arts expertise," Harry revealed.

"Then you should have come to me," she insisted. "Your eyes are dilated, Mr. Potter. Did Professor Snape give you anything to eat or drink while you were in his office?"

"No," Harry lied. She leaned closer, sniffing at his hair.

"Munia," she whispered. "Was he burning incense?"

"Yes. What did you call it?"

"Munia. Mmm. That takes me back," Volkova smiled, smelling more deeply against Harry’s locks. "I was rather a wild girl once up on a time. I hope that doesn’t shock you. What you see now, this person? She has lived a thousand lifetimes since then," she murmured. "That’s a potent blend. It’s a wonder you can walk," she added, guiding him up the stairs. "Where were we? Ah, yes. Severus Snape, and all the reasons I don’t want you to trust him. I could tell you things about him that would curl your hair."

"We’ve had our ups and downs. I’m not entirely sure I trust him," Harry hedged.

"It’s wise to be cautious when you aren’t sure of someone’s motivations," she praised.

"For that matter, I’m not entirely sure I trust you." Harry couldn’t resist. She considered his words with uncommon honesty.

"Considering the splendid history you’ve had with other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, I don’t blame you. Perhaps you shouldn’t trust me either, until I’ve proven myself worthy of you. I hope you will allow me the chance to prove myself before you judge me, Mr. Potter."

"So far, my Dark Arts teachers have tried to kill me, set me up for a Dementor’s kiss, hand me over to Voldemort, discredit me as a raging lunatic, branded me an attention-seeking liar. On the whole, I will remain skeptical of everyone who ever accepts your position."

"Has anyone hinted to you you’re a tad paranoid for a sixteen year old? Would you be this paranoid if you were anyone but you?"

"If I were anyone but me, I’d be dead."

"If you were anyone but you, people wouldn’t be trying to kill you."

"I’m not entirely convinced," Harry said grimly. "You haven’t done anything to me yet, but it could only be a matter of time before you try and pull something funny on me too."

"I will be many things with you, child, but funny will never be one of them."

"Why? Did you have your sense of humor removed?"

"I’m in a serious line of work, one that does not afford an abundance of chuckles."

"Professors can have a sense of humor, can’t they?" Harry asked. She blinked at him, and found a half smile. "Unless you’re referring to a different line of work?" he ventured.

"What can I do to help you trust me, Mr. Potter?" she implored.

"Trusting people hasn’t been good for me, Professor," he replied. "Nor good for those I’ve trusted."

"Yes, quite correct. Look what you did to Sirius Black."

Stung, Harry gulped back his emotions and looked away.

"He was a fine man in his prime, though prone to reckless behavior, I was told," she added.

"Yes," Harry agreed quietly. "Professor Snape calls it ‘Gryffindor spirit’. I don’t think he means it in a complimentary way."

"But you don’t seem to have an ill effect on Remus Lupin."

"Not so far."

"And your friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. They are alive and well, if anything bolstered by your acquaintance."

"So far," Harry repeated.

"What are your plans after you graduate from Hogwarts, Mr. Potter? Have you given any consideration to your future? An auror, or perhaps....perhaps a chef?" Her smile was tender with humor, none of it malicious, as far as he could tell.

"I’m thinking of going into isolation when I graduate from Hogwarts," Harry whispered. Had she been talking to Dobby about him? Surely Remus wouldn’t have told her about what Harry had said, and neither would Snape, that’s for sure.

"Isolation in what sense?" Volkova asked.

"Somewhere far away where no one I love will get hurt because of me ever again."

"I could put you into a protected place, Harry," she answered, clinging to his arm. "A place no wizard could breach. A fortress, an institution like Hogwarts, except Voldemort doesn’t dream of challenging us. Whatever topic of knowledge that piqued your interest would be at your fingertips. Books as old as the Library of Alexandria to read. Scrolls with the secrets of a thousand years in their weave, all waiting for you to discover. Your every curiosity would be satisfied. You would be safe. You would be pampered as you’ve never been. Your every whim would be answered."

"You don’t know what you’re getting into. I’ve a lot of whims, you know," he warned.

"You consider it, and if you’re of the same mind when you graduate, we will discuss it further," she promised.

"Provided I live that long, eh?" he mused. They cleared the landing. Up ahead, Harry could see the Pink Lady in her portrait.

"Good night, Mr. Potter," Volkova said, releasing his arm.

"Good night, Professor," Harry replied. Impulsively, he brushed a kiss to her cheek. Volkova put an arm around his back, resting her cheek against his forehead with a gentle sigh. He didn’t know what Snape so disliked about her. For a decorated vampire killer and dangerous witch, she was rather soft and motherly. Harry decided he’d like more of that– being treated tenderly.

"Think about my offer, will you?" she whispered.

Harry nodded, and pulled out of the hug. He heard her vanishing down the stairs as he turned to face the Pink Lady. Ron was waiting for him, as was Hermione. They had seen just enough to get the whole situation all wrong.

"It’s pretty clear where he’s been," Ron said crankily. "I want to know what he’s been doing."

"Why are you wearing your Quidditch uniform?" Hermione puzzled.

"You waited up for me? How thoughtful," Harry smiled tiredly, walking through Ron and Hermione to get into the Common Room.

"We want some explanation, Harry. We’ve been pacing around since you left," Ron said.

"Shhh," Hermione cautioned. "Tell us what’s going on, Harry? We hate being left out of the loop as much as you do."

"Well, the long and short of it?" Harry questioned, unsnapping his gauntlets and beginning to undress as he climbed the stairs towards his bedroom. "When I arrived, Snape was talking to Lupin about a plan that is apparently going foul. He made mention of a capital crime against a wizard’s person."

"There are three capital crimes against a wizard. Use of the unforgivables. Use of illegal potions. Use of a wizard’s identity," Hermione said, "through means of the Polyjuice Potion. Er....um....next question?" She glossed over as quickly as she could when Ron stared at her.

"We committed a capital crime?" he whispered, covering his eyes briefly. "If my mum finds out, I’m doomed."

"We simply mustn’t tell her then," Hermione decided.

"Given the involved parties, number two seems the most likely," Harry said, pulling off his shoes.

"Lucius Malfoy is missing. Lupin is talking to Snape about a capital crime. Is it paranoid of me to suspect the two events are related?" Ron wanted to know.

"What did Snape say about the locket?" Hermione asked.

"It’s not jinxed, so far as he can tell, but he said he needed more time to study it."

"Why didn’t you take more time?"

"Volkova arrived and interrupted us."

"Interrupted you how?" Hermione wanted to know.

"How did you start out going to Snape and wind up back here on Volkova’s arm? Sorry, in Volkova’s arms?" Ron corrected.

"She came to Snape’s office while I was there. She refused to leave without escorting me safely back to my dorms. Will it surprise you to learn she doesn’t want me to trust Severus Snape?"

"Will it surprise you to learn we agree?" Ron answered.

"What happened in Snape’s office? Your pupils are dilated, and you smell like you’ve been to a Deadhead concert," Hermione said.

"What kind of concert?" Ron asked.

"Never mind. It’s a Muggle thing," Hermione told him. Harry paused on the steps and turned around unsteadily.

"If I tell you, you have to swear you won’t repeat a word," he whispered, sitting down on the stairs. Ron sat beside him, and Hermione above.

"We’re all ears," Ron baited.

"He was burning incense when I arrived. Munia, Volkova called it."

"Munia? That’s used to induce sleep and pleasant dreams in patients with severe insomnia and frequent nightmares," Hermione told him. "But the cultivation of the flower it’s derived from has to be strictly monitored, because certain wizards use Munia as a recreational hallucinogenic drug."

"Snape’s got drugs in his office?" Ron said, his eyes growing bright with curiosity.

"Continued use over many years can impair a wizard’s physical response time. Some believe it damages nerve endings and synaptic pathways. The ill effects can be passed on to the abuser’s children as well, or even impair their ability to have children."

"Oh," Ron sighed, completely discouraged.

"So, when you arrived, Snape was getting loaded on Munia. Then what?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"I sat down on his couch and fell asleep almost at once."

"We’re waiting for the twist," Ron smiled.

"Skip to the part about the Quidditch clothes," Hermione nodded. Harry took a deep breath and quickly blurted his response.

"I had a Trelawney moment, and spunked on the couch."

"You what?" Ron hollered.

"Shush!" Hermione hissed.

"It’s not my fault. He’s apparently shagged quite a few people on the damn thing. How was I supposed to know what I’d dream about? It seemed a perfectly-innocent divan, for Merlin’s sake."

"You spunked on Snape’s couch?" Ron tittered. "Ohmygod."

"Was he mad at you?" Hermione winced.

"No," Harry replied. "Strangely enough, he was very apologetic, gentle with me, actually. It was nice." Harry’s voice trailed off because Hermione was all but glaring at him. "What?" he asked. She didn’t answer.

"I can’t believe you spunked on his couch," Ron gasped, wiping the tears off his face.

"Oh, Ron. Grow up," Hermione chided. "Harry, it’s a phase. That’s all. When you finish puberty, if your clairvoyant ability is still there, it will have mellowed out."

"Will I have to go around sitting on new chairs until then?" he asked, wishing Ron would stop squealing giggles into his knees.

"No. I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t recommend shopping second-hand, if you know what I mean. You had a vivid dream on the couch, and Snape magicked your uniform to you?"

"Yes."

"A vivid dream?" Ron squeaked.

"What did he do with your other clothes?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Sent them to my hamper, he said," Harry replied.

"The house elves will get them tonight. Don’t worry," she soothed.

"All right. I wasn’t worried."

"Now, all we have to do is figure out how to get into Snape’s office and clean that couch, before Volkova manages to switch or swipe it," Hermione decided firmly, wheels turning in her head.

"Come again?" Ron questioned.

"RON!" Harry and Hermione wailed.

"Sorry. Inadvertent pun."

"Don’t take this the wrong way, Hermione, but why all the fuss?" Harry asked.

"Since I read about the Gallahad Elixir. If Volkova uses your...whatever.... to make that, it could bond you to her, make it terribly hard to resist anything she asks you to do. You would be at her beck and call. You, Mr. Potter, off to bed and see what you can learn from Draco’s trinket. You, Mr. Weasley, quit grinning like a circus chimp and come along. We’ve got a couch to nick."

"I’m not touching it," Ron protested.

"I need your help, Ron. I can’t lift the bloody thing by myself."

"Snape has had sex on that couch who knows how many times. Harry very recently spunked it. I’m not touching that divan with a ten foot wand."

"Ron, there’s a little thing in the Muggle world called Luminol. I happen to have a vial of a wizard substitute in my Potions set. Would you like me to tell you about what it does?"

"No," Ron said as he followed Hermione down the stairs. "I don’t care what it does."

"We don’t have to steal the couch. We just have to clean it."

"I’m not touching it," Ron protested. Harry wound his way up the stairs and to his room, where he threw himself on the covers still clothed in the remains of his Quidditch clothes. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, his hand still clutching Malfoy’s locket.

***

The world came into focus around Harry very slowly, one piece at a time. The moon that had been glittering above his head dissolved into an overhead hanging torch. The sword he had been holding in his hand turned out to be his quill off his nightstand. The pirates he had been defending his virtue against on the wooden deck of a swaying ship turned into Snape, and Dumbledore, and McGonagall one by one. The swaying ship rocked violently beneath him. He couldn’t seem to balance his body, but that was because it clearly wasn’t his body, or was it?

"Harry? Harry? Give me your hand," Dumbledore called.

Harry swayed to and fro, balanced on the top edge of the highest staircase bannister in the main junction of moving stairs, and said staircase was starting to change positions.

"Harry? Give me your hand," Dumbledore called, naked panic in his voice.

McGonagall leapt across at Harry, changing mid air to her cat form. She balanced on the bannister with him until she could jump to the flat of the stairs themselves, where she changed back into a human. Minerva quickly wrapped both arms around Harry and tugged him down off the bannister and into her cloak. Harry was screaming in terror by this point. His quill fell out of his hand and over the side. Snape watched it float by, and felt as if he had aged ten years in the last ten minutes. Harry’s screams echoed in the hall.

"Alert Madam Pomfrey at once, Severus," Dumbledore ordered, going to the end of the stairs and making his way to where McGonagall and Harry were.

"It’s all right. It’s all right," Minerva repeated, rocking Harry to quiet his kicking and struggling. "I’m not going to hurt you."

"Oh," Malfoy said, collecting it carefully and putting it away.

"I want you to tell me why and when you gave this to Mr. Potter," Dumbledore ordered.

"Last night after dinner, in the hallway in front of the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Why?"

"My father is missing, and I hoped Potter would be able to help me find him."

"Did you in any way hex or curse or alter this locket before you gave it to him?"

"No, sir," Draco gulped. "Why would I?"

"Don’t patronize me, Mr. Malfoy. I’m in no mood," Albus warned. Draco lost his usual veneer of self-confidence.

"I wanted him to find my father. I wouldn’t have done a thing to jeopardize that."

"I am here to discern if you are telling the truth, Draco," Severus explained. "Do I need Veritaserum, or can I take you at your word?"

"My word, sir. I have not altered or spelled this locket in any way since I picked it up at Malfoy Manor this summer when I returned home from abroad. That’s when Father gave it to me."

"Gave it to you?" Dumbledore questioned.

"No, sir. Actually, I took it from my parents’ room while they were at dinner one night. They never missed it, and I never returned it."

"You have in no way affected this locket?" Snape asked.

"No, sir. I swear I haven’t."

"He’s telling the truth," Severus assured the Headmaster. Albus nodded in agreement. "Someone else must have put a spell on it. If I had taken more time to study it further before allowing Mr. Potter to proceed. You don’t know how sorry I am."

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy. What made you think Harry could help you find your father if you gave him this locket?" Dumbledore asked.

"I found a letter from Professor Snape to my father, talking about a mutual acquaintance who was having precognitive dreams about me being in a coffin last summer."

"Where did you spend your summer, Mr. Malfoy?" the Headmaster continued.

"Researching family history in France, in the crypt at Belle Font."

"How did you know it was Harry who had had the dreams?" Snape asked.

"I followed my nose. I know Father asked you to keep him informed about Potter’s comings and goings," Draco blurted, then cast a nervous look at Dumbledore. "He was concerned after last year that if Harry Potter wasn’t in his right mind, that if he were revealed to be in some way mentally unstable, that the wizarding world wouldn’t be safe if he was free. We can hardly put our faith in a raving lunatic, can we? Did my father curse the locket?"

"Why do you ask?" Snape wondered.

"I heard Potter tried to throw himself off the staircase in the main hall, shouting about pirates and protecting his virtue."

"Did your father give you this locket and order you to put it on Harry’s person somehow?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"No, sir. Father doesn’t know I have the locket. I took it without his permission."

"But he knows you have a compulsion to lift shiny objects that belong to other people," Snape murmured. "I’m sorry, Draco, but I’m afraid he’s played you in this as much as the rest of us, and nearly succeeded in killing Mr. Potter."

"Not only that, he’s conveniently missing when we need him to answer what curse he’s placed on the locket in the first place," Dumbledore growled angrily. "You have no idea where he has gone?"

"No, sir," Draco shivered.

"If you hear anything from him, Mr. Malfoy, you will come to Professor Snape and myself, no matter the time of day or night."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"You may return to your class, Mr. Malfoy."

"Wait," Draco said, turning to Snape. "Pirates. Potter was dreaming about pirates. What does that have to do with the locket, or with my father?"

"Return to class, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore ordered.

"The locket’s original owner was Marie de Boniface," Snape explained.

"That’s the M.B. on the back here? I thought it stood for the Malfoy-Black alliance."

"Your father sent you to Belle Font to study family history. How far back did you get?"

"Not very. I got tired to spending all day in the crypts."

"How far?"

"Four generations," Draco admitted.

"Your father got this locket from his father, from his grandfather, from his great-grandfather, and so on. It has been in your family for several generations," Snape said. "Now that you know who the original owner was, and that her name was neither Malfoy nor Black, what does this lead you to suspect? Use your head."

"I’m not following you."

"What Professor Snape is attempting to tell you, Mr. Malfoy, is that the locket is in your possession because your ancestors were on the pirate ship that Marie de Boniface had the misfortune to encounter. They stole it from her."

"I’m descended from pirates?" Malfoy smirked. He didn’t look as horrified as Dumbledore had hoped he would.

"Look at the picture, boy," Dumbledore flared. "You are descended from pirates and from this poor woman! Do I have to get any more graphic, or will that suffice? Your family is the result of her captivity among a pack of vile, thieving beasts. And from what I’ve seen of you and of your father, I dare say you haven’t done much to improve yourselves in the last three hundred years. Out of my sight!"

"Headmaster," Severus chided as much as he dared. "Return to class, Mr. Malfoy. We’ll talk later."

"It’s not my fault," Draco said softly. "What happened to her?"

"Her picture is hanging in the Charms Hallway. You’ll know her when you see her," Severus replied.

"Was she a powerful witch?"

"In her time, she was without peer," Snape smiled. "Go on now."

Draco practically scrambled from the room. Albus waited until the staircase slid back into its original position before he spoke.

"What are you going to tell him when he sees her name didn’t stay de Boniface?"

"He’ll get over it. It’s time he and Harry both knew."

"Severus, do you know where Lucius is?"

"I don’t know where, but I do know with whom."

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Remus Lupin has taken up the mantle of reckless, stupid Gryffindor that Sirius Black cast off with his untimely demise."

"More matter, less art, Severus."

"Remus Lupin has kidnapped Lucius Malfoy."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his eyes wide.

"I must assume you didn’t command this of him?" Snape said, arching one brow. "I was mistaken. You didn't know about it either?"

"Remus kidnapped Lucius? I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed," Albus murmured.

"Be afraid, because when Lucius escapes, and he will escape, there will be hell to pay."

"Why would Remus kidnap Lucius?"

"I haven’t the first clue, sir."

"Do you have any way to track where he might be holding Lucius?"

"Lupin did appear briefly in my floo last night, wanting help with a potion to keep Lucius in a dreamlike state for several weeks."

"And?"

"I told him no. He wanted me to recommend someone. I tried."

"Didn’t want Lucius to feel your hand in this, did you? Wise of you. How very Slytherin."

"Lucius would be less than understanding. Lupin flooed to my office. You are welcome to sniff his trail from there."

"Are you going to the hospital wing?"

"Yes," Severus answered.

"I’ll come with you. I’m anxious to have a look at Harry myself."

"Don’t panic," Ron whispered, putting a hand over Harry’s.

"The ship. Are we still on board?"

"Um, Harry, we’re at Hogwarts," Ron told him.

"I remember Hogwarts," Harry said woozily.

"You’ll probably want to lie very still, and wait till Madam Pomfrey comes back. She’s busy with the healing potions and counter-curses," Ron suggested.

"I was cursed?" Harry’s brain swam.

"It’s all right though. You’ve already had your revenge on Malfoy."

"What did he do, give me scurvy?" Harry laughed weakly. "My stomach hurts," he whispered, putting a hand down to his abdomen. "Nothing compared to my legs though. Ye gods."

"Do you remember what you dreamed?" Ron worried.

"Did you and Hermione nick Snape’s couch?" Harry wondered.

"Thanks to your smashing, clever diversion, we had plenty of time," Ron said. "We broke in his office and cleaned several stains off the couch. Snape is none the wiser, unless he notices it smells better."

"You’re welcome," Harry moaned. He remembered the rolling of the deck of the ship. He had a sword in his hand. There was a full moon above. A man who looked like Lucius Malfoy, but with long, dark devilish hair was approaching him, trying to coax him off the railing of the ship. He had been between the devil and the deep blue sea. Apparently the devil won. "I feel really sick," Harry moaned, wondering why Ron was watching him so closely.

"Snape was here. You threw up on him when he tried to Legilimens you," Ron smirked. "You got him right in the lap."

"That’s disgusting," Harry whimpered.

"That’s not even the best part."

"It’s not?"

"Don’t be shocked, but you and Malfoy are cousins."

"We’re what?"

"Very distant cousins. He was screaming at Snape about it. Tore up a couple pictures in the Charms Hallway. Your great-great-great-etc-grandmother was his great-great-great-etc grandmother. She left France by sea and was kidnapped by pirates. It took her several years to escape them. But she finally settled in England, where she married a maker of clay bowls, one Hugh Potter."

"I’m going to be sick."

"That was pretty much Malfoy’s reaction too. He had a screaming hissy fit, locked himself in the Slytherin dorms, and refused to come out until Snape went and told him the whole story. Stay tuned for further developments."

"What happened to me? I feel like every bit of me’s been whacked and stomped on."

"Apparently, this woman who the locket belonged to put a curse on it, and you relived what she went through when Malfoy’s relatives kidnapped her. And that, mate, is the good news."

"Did he wake up yet?" Hermione asked, coming around the corner of the screen.

"Yeah."

"Did you tell him what happened?"

"I’m trying to," Ron grinned.

"I need to pee," Harry announced, moving to get out of the bed.

"Uh oh," Hermione said. "Harry, can you wait until Madam Pomfrey comes back? She’s on the way."

"I’ll help him," Ron offered.

"You will not," Hermione said, taking Harry’s arm. Harry winced as he sat up.

"Why am I so damned sore?" he asked, sliding a hand down between his legs. He screamed and lifted the loose shirt he wore in order to look underneath. "What in the HELL HAPPENED TO ME?!"

"You think it’s bad now. You should have been awake an hour ago. You had breasts then," Ron told him grimly. Hermione wrapped Harry’s clothes around him again and drew the covers up to his chin.

"Not to worry. Madam Pomfrey is changing you back."

"I’m a... I’m a....I’m a..."

"Frightful mess," Ron suggested.

"A work in progress," Hermione corrected. Harry peered down his shirt again. Everything looked pretty normal to his waist. That’s where the wide hips and blonde pubic hair began, followed by nothing familiar, which was exactly the problem!

"The locket turned you into your mutual ancestor with Malfoy," Ron said. Harry ran both hands down between his legs. "We thought at first it was Malfoy that cursed you, but it became pretty apparent that this particular curse was beyond Draco’s abilities. Beyond Lucius’s abilities too. She must have been one helluva Transfigurationist. Of course, that begs the question of why she was in the Charms Hallway, doesn't it?"

"If you’re going to keep groping yourself, I’m going to leave," Hermione threatened.

"He’s probably never been this close to one of those," Ron whispered. "Can’t you forgive him his curiosity?"

"It feels so weird," Harry said. Ron was trying not to crack up, because he knew Hermione would hit him if he laughed. "Does yours always hurt like this?" Harry asked her.

"No," she said, simply livid with annoyance.

"Harry, you’re giving me the view again. Cover up, mate," Ron said.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I feel weird. Not right at all. And I really need to pee."

"Come on," Ron said, putting out an arm.

"Not you," Harry recoiled, suddenly scared.

"Harry, it’s me," Ron laughed, shocked.

"Here," Hermione said, helping Harry carefully out of bed. "We’ll be right back."

"Budge over, Longbottom," Malfoy barked.

"Bite me," Neville replied without looking up from his oatmeal. Harry wasn’t so distracted by his anger that he missed the wicked twinkle in Neville’s eyes.

"What do you want, Draco?" Ron asked from across the table. Hermione’s frown seconded the question. "Where’s your body guards?"

"I sent them in for a flea dip. Look, Potter, I need to talk to you."

Harry turned and gave Draco a stare that crackled with spite.

"I’ve nothing to say to you."

"I didn’t know the locket was cursed. It’s never done that to anyone else, so far as I know. You’re the only person that the curse has worked on in three hundred or more years. You can’t blame me for it."

"Can’t I?" Harry rasped.

"It can’t have been a pleasant experience. I’m sorry."

"No, it wasn’t. Fuck off, Malfoy, and have a nice day."

"You shouldn’t talk to family that way," Draco tested out a smile. "Can I sit?"

"The proper question, you bone-headed twit, is ‘May I sit?’."

"May I sit?" Draco asked. Harry gave Neville a gentle push, and he and Longbottom moved far enough apart to allow Malfoy a small spot to put his bottom.

"You have three minutes," Harry said, picking up his toast and taking a bite.

"You gave me five minutes last time. Tired of my company, are you?"

"Two minutes, 55 seconds."

"Having PMS today?" Draco grinned.

"Two minutes, 45 seconds."

"I heard you had great breasts," Draco whispered, bouncing his brows once.

"Two minutes, 35 seconds," Harry growled.

"Here’s your receipt," Draco said, giving Harry a piece of paper.

"For what?"

"My donation to St. Mungo’s in your name," Draco reminded him. "Our deal was that you would dream about the location of the owner of the locket, which you did. I made a very generous donation to the maternity ward," Draco purred.

"I’ll frame it," Harry said, shoving the scrap into his bookbag, but not before noticing that Draco had added an extra zero in a different color of ink. Dishonest, scum-sucking little thief. As Harry sat up straight, he felt Draco put a hand into the pocket of his robe. "A bit feely, aren’t we, Malfoy?" Harry said, trying not to flinch in horror at the touch of Malfoy’s hand to his side.

"Don’t take it out here," Draco whispered urgently. Under different circumstances, Harry might laughed out loud at this. But not today. He put his hand into his pocket as Draco stood up from the Gryffindor table. The smoothest velvet he’d ever felt in his life was inside, and it was cut in the shape of a hand.

"What is it?" he asked Draco.

"They have only ever belonged to my father. You have one, and I have the other. If the pair is cursed, we both will share in the misery."

"You want him to try again?" Ron gasped.

"My father is still missing, and Potter has more than proven himself capable of the task."

"You can’t be serious," Ron laughed.

"I’m dead serious," Malfoy said. Harry flinched, dropping his fork and choking. "Sorry. I don't know what you want from me, Potter. My father is in grave danger. I can feel it. I’ll do whatever it takes. I'm begging you. I need to find my father."

"How do you know he hasn’t wandered off for a meeting with the rest of his friends in black robes?" Hermione grouched bitterly.

In reply, Draco pivoted towards the entrance. Professor Snape stood in the shadows by the door, adjusting his high, tight neckline. At his side, Dobby the house elf was bobbing along, talking to him. Snape handed Dobby a tiny black box, and Dobby nodded, grinning enthusiastically. Dobby disappeared in the direction of the dorms, and Snape smiled faintly before coming into the crowded breakfast area.

Harry understood what Draco was insinuating– if Snape was still around, there hadn’t been a meeting of the Death Eaters. The hairs on his neck prickled, and his scar dropped an icicle of pain through his face. Harry closed his right eye and rubbed his forehead. Draco knew Snape was a Death Eater. Did he also know Snape was a spy? If Draco did know Snape was leading a double life, and Snape was still alive, whose side was Draco on? Wait. Had he just wondered about where Draco Malfoy's loyalties resided? He needed to get his head examined in more ways than one!

"Do we have a deal?" Draco questioned.

"Harry, don’t do it," Ron warned.

"No, you’ll be safe this time," Hermione said. "Not even Draco is thick enough to hurt you twice in a row, are you, twit?"

"If anything happens to Harry, so help me, Draco, I’ll rip you limb from limb and feed you to the Thestrals," Ron growled.

"Do we have a deal, Potter?" Draco begged.

"We have a deal, Malfoy, on two conditions," Harry replied.

"You wish is my command," Draco mocked.

"One is that you make another donation to St. Mungo’s."

"You want a wing in your name, or will a floor do?" Draco mused.

"Two is going to be a bit harder," Harry murmured. He scanned the instructors’ table as Professor Snape pulled out his chair. Snape lifted up the cushion, tested the legs, gave the chair a good bounce, and pronounced it in fair health before sitting down. Two chairs down, Volkova was trying to quell a devious smile. She looked up from her coffee, and found Harry in the crowd. Draco stood up perfectly straight, and their eyes met. Harry could almost feel the connection that ran between Volkova and Malfoy, a secret look that no one was supposed to ever see.

"What’s your second condition, Potter?" Malfoy asked as he broke the connection with Volkova. She poured herself another cup of coffee, smiling down the table at Snape. Severus was lifting each dish at his setting and inspecting them one by one.

"I want you to steal Professor Volkova’s wand for me," Harry replied. Ron’s jaw dropped, and Hermione gasped.

"Her what?" Draco stammered. "If you want her wand, ask her for it."

"Not her everyday wand. I want her grandfather’s wand. Silver tip. Potion vial inside the handle. I’m sure you’ve seen it, Draco."

"Yes, but she never takes that out of her robes."

"How badly do you want your father back?" Harry questioned.

"It’s suicide. She’ll hex me into next March if I even touch it," Draco protested.

"If she never takes it out of her robes, all you have to do is figure out how to separate her from her robes," Harry suggested. Draco blushed, red on white.

"Am I under a specific time limit?" Malfoy asked, attempting to compose himself. Harry watched him with a chilling smile that made Draco uncomfortable.

"No. But when you succeed, I’ll tell you where your father is."

"You know where he is?"

"Not yet. But by the time you figure out how you’re going to take that wand from our Dark Arts instructor without getting your balls hexed off, I’m sure I’ll have a promising lead."

"You’re a real prick, you know that, Potter?" Draco muttered as he strode away. Harry picked up his pumpkin juice and emptied the glass.

"That’s bloody brilliant, Harry," Ron said. "He’ll never get that wand away from her."

"Don’t be too sure. He is a Malfoy, after all," Hermione chimed in.

"Too right," Harry agreed.

"What are you going to do with her wand when you have it?" Neville wanted to know.